Notes from a Spinning Planet—Mexico (16 page)

I nod. “Of course.” I want to ask why Francesca must work to support her sisters, but I control myself.

“We have a Web site,” says Mr. Bernard. “Candace can give you a brochure on your way out.” He leans forward and peers at me. “What kind of article do you think your aunt would like to write?”

“Well, I'm not sure yet. I'm only here to see if it's something that would work for her magazine. I help her with research. She's very busy.”

He nods and leans back. “I see.”

“I'm curious about the arrangements for girls after they leave the home,” I continue. “I know you've helped Francesca find work and a place to live. Do you do that for all your girls?”

“Oh yes,” says Mrs. Bernard. “We want to make sure they're gainfully employed and living in safe conditions.”

I smile at her. “Oh yes, I almost forgot. Francesca and I met her great-aunt the other day.” I turn to Francesca as if this has just occurred to me. “She's a wonderful old woman who lives in Todos Santos—in a lovely home. She's invited Francesca to come live with her, and I thought it sounded like a wonderful opportunity, but I think Francesca was worried that it might be a problem.”

Mrs. Bernard clears her throat and looks directly at Francesca with probing, pale blue eyes. “What sort of problem?”

“Francesca told me that since you helped set her up with a job and housing, perhaps she needs your approval. Naturally, I thought that sounded absurd since she's a grown young woman fully capable of making her own decisions.” Okay, even as I'm saying this, I can feel my cheeks flushing. I think I'd be a lousy poker player.

“Of course,” says Mrs. Bernard in a stiff voice, “we encourage our girls to remain in close contact with us. We like for them to have some supervision in the outside world. And since Francescas younger sisters are still here…well, certainly, we want to be sure she's not making any foolish decisions.”

“So it wouldn't be a problem for Francesca to move to Todos Santos to live with her great-aunt?”

There's a long and uncomfortable silence now. Francesca is looking at her hands, which are neatly folded in her lap.

Mr. Bernard clears his throat. “I don't think it's a problem for Francesca to live with her aunt in Todos Santos. I assume Francesca will want to find a job there. We have some connections in Todos Santos.”

“Her aunt has some connections too,” I say. “She has some ideas for good places for Francesca to work.” Okay, I'm not really sure about this, but I guess I want to call their bluff. If they're bluffing. These people are starting to remind me of Nazis. It's like they think they own Francesca, body and soul.

“We'd need to approve her place of employment,” says Mrs. Bernard quickly. “We can't have one of our girls working someplace disrespectable.”

Now I'm entirely fed up. “Well, I'm not sure how much you know about where Francesca is working now,” I say carefully. “But my aunt and I both feel that it's a very poorly run establishment. We were only too eager to check out of it and move to another hotel.”

Mr. Bernard's brows lift. “Would you care to elaborate on this?”

And so I do. I tell him just a bit of what we saw and heard. And he actually seems surprised.

“Is this true, Francesca?”

She nods sadly. “That and even more.”

He's drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair now. And I get the impression he's actually concerned. But then Mrs. Bernard begins to speak.

“You don't understand this country, Miss Chase,” she says in a slightly snooty tone. “Mexico isn't like America. Things are run differently here. You shouldn't pass judgment so quickly on things you don't fully comprehend, my dear.”

Well, I guess that was supposed to put me in my place. I try to compose myself before I cut to the chase. No sense in getting all riled up. “I understand that Francesca is a good person,” I finally say. “And I have to commend you and your husband for your involvement in this. But it seems to me that your work with her is done now. I think you should trust her to make good decisions, and I hope you won't oppose her choice to live with her great-aunt.”

“So is that your choice, Francesca?” asks Mrs. Bernard, those eyes probing.

Francesca looks at her evenly. “Yes, Mrs. Bernard. That's my choice. I was so pleased to learn that I have some family. You must know how important family is. More than anything, I would like to live with my aunt and find work in Todos Santos. I have been miserable in my job. And my accommodations are…well, they are not good. Perhaps you would like to see the place for yourself. I cannot imagine that you would approve.”

“Really?” Mrs. Bernard looks a little shocked.

“It's true,” I say quickly. “I saw the place. It's smaller than a single-wide mobile home, and yet nine adults live there. I assume they share one bathroom.”

“When it's working,” says Francesca. “There is an outhouse too.”

“Oh my!” Mrs. Bernard looks at her husband.

“Maybe we need to check these things a bit more closely, dear,” he says to her.

She nods, causing her double chin to wobble.

“As for the article,” I say in closing, “perhaps this isn't a good time to interview you for the magazine. You see, my aunt likes to write very honest stories about real people. And some of the things we've learned might not come off in a very positive light for you and your organization.”

“Perhaps not,” says Mrs. Bernard.

“But maybe later?” I say as I stand up.

“Certainly,” says Mrs. Bernard. “Believe me, if what you and Francesca are saying is true, there will be some changes made.”

“It's true,” I tell her.

“Well, of course… “

“We can see ourselves out,” says Francesca. Then she politely thanks them for their time and tells them she will let them know her new address when she comes back next week.

Once we're outside and safely in the car, Francesca turns to me with tears in her eyes. “Thank you so much!” she says. “I never could have done that without you, Maddie. Do you see that now?”

I nod, still amazed. “Yes, I do see it. That is a formidable woman.”

“I know they are not all good,” says Francesca as we drive away. “But they are not all bad, either.”

“I think I understand,” I say. I want to add that perhaps they are the lesser of two evils, but I don't want to insult her. Still, I did pick up a brochure, and I plan to check out their Web site. Just out of curiosity.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say as she turns back onto the main highway.

“Of course, you can ask me anything.”

“Completely off the record.”

“Off the record?”

“Meaning I won't write an article.”

She sort of laughs. “Yes. Certainly.”

“What Mrs. Bernard said about the child-sponsorship program— do you know about that?”

“I know that sometimes things are different,” she says slowly.

“Different as in how?”

“Sometimes, when sponsors came to visit, we were allowed to be in the whole house. First we were told we must not break anything. And we had to be polite and courteous. We were allowed to use the pool and to eat in the main dining room, which is beautiful. We enjoyed these times. We pretended we were on vacation. Then the sponsors went home, and everything was back to normal.”

“1 see.”

“But you cannot blame the Bernards. Their home is very fine. Too fine for girls who might break things or make noise. The children should be thankful for what they have there. I wish Elena could accept this.”

“Do you think your aunt would let Elena and Victoria live with you and her in Todos Santos?”

Francesca smiles and sighs. “Yes, I think so. Tia Lenora showed me her house. It is big enough. Even if we three girls shared one bedroom, it would be more room than any of us has now. Elena sleeps in
a room with eleven other girls. It is crowded. I think my aunt would like my sisters.”

“I like them,” I tell her. “I think all three of you girls would make your parents proud.”

She nods. “I hope this is true.”

“So, have you made your decision?” I ask. “Will you go live with your aunt now?”

“Yes. I most certainly will. I have her phone number, and I will call her from the hotel on Monday. And I will tell them I am quitting.”

“Even if they don't give you a letter of reference?” I ask.

“Yes.” She nods firmly.

“I meant what I said,” I remind her. “Sid and Ian and I will all write letters of recommendation if it will help you.”

“I appreciate it.”

It's about five when Francesca pulls into our resort. “We leave Cabo on Monday,” I tell her, though she might remember this.

She looks sad. “So soon.”

“I know. But if there's anything we can do before that, just call us at Casa del Sol.”

“I have the number.”

“And we'll drop those letters by at your work.”

“Thank you.” She smiles with more tears in her eyes. “Thank you for everything, Maddie.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. “This has been a totally great day.”

“I am thinking about what you said, Maddie. That you are a Christian and that is why you are such a good person.”

Now I'm not really sure I said those exact words. “I try to live my
life the way I think Jesus wants me to live,” I say. “But I still make a lot of mistakes.”

“Well, I am Catholic,” she says, “but I am not a good Catholic. I miss Mass because of work and going to see my sisters, and I have not been to confession for a long time.”

“I think God understands,” I say. “And it looks like your life is going to be changing. Maybe you will change too, Francesca.”

She smiles brightly. “Oh, I hope so!”

“I'll see you later,” I promise.

She nods. “Yes. I hope so.”

Then I wave, and she drives away in a car that looks like it should ve been retired long ago, with a trail of blue smoke curling behind it. I don't even know why, but as I walk away, I feel the warmth of tears in my eyes. And I wonder how I can care so much for someone I've known less than a week.

It must be a God thing.

Walking across the parking lot, I think about what a great and weirdly interesting day this has been, and I'm almost shocked to see that I'm back at this luxurious resort. Like, what am I doing here? I hear someone calling my name, and I look over to see a white Jeep pulling up, with the top down, and Shelby is waving and yelling at me from the passenger's seat. Ryan, of course, is driving. With reluctance, I walk over, trying not to frown when I see she's wearing his straw cowboy hat.

“We just had the greatest time,” she tells me in an overly loud voice that gives me the distinct impression she's been drinking. And as I lean against the passenger's side, I actually get a waft of her alcoholsaturated
breath. I inch back and try not to glare at Ryan. Certainly he hasn't been drinking too—and driving? Maybe he's not really who I thought he was. I press my lips together, determined not to say something I'll regret.

“We went
parasailing”
says Shelby, “and it was so fantastic. Just like flying. We were up there so high, way above the ocean. Just like birds or butterflies or kites or some kinda flying thing. It was so awesome.” Then she waves her finger at me. “Oh, Maddie, you hafta try it. Wanna go?” She turns and looks at Ryan. “Come on, Ry. Let's take Maddie parasailing. Let's go
right now.”

“No,” I say quickly, “I don't want to go right now. But thanks anyway. I just got back from a long day, and I'm thinking a dip in the pool sounds good.”

“That does sound good,” says Shelby as she half stumbles out of the car. She has on her bikini top and a pair of very short shorts. She tries to sling her bag over a shoulder as she puts her other arm around me, I think to balance herself. “Maybe I'll take a dip too. And then I'll order us a round of pina coladas, Maddie. You in?”

“I'll catch ya later,” calls Ryan, quickly heading the other direction like he thinks he's going to get away with dumping his drunk date on me. I almost yell at him to think again, but then I don't.

Shelby chatters on about how cool it was to fly, and I try to navigate her back to her suite, finally depositing her onto her bed and closing the door. I hope she'll just pass out and sleep it off. The last thing she needs now is another pina colada. The room is all neat and tidy again, and I decide to do some exploring, looking in the fridge and cupboards to see if she has alcohol stashed somewhere, which she
does. I know she's not my responsibility and its none of my business, but I decide to hide her booze. I mean, seriously, this girl does not need another drink.

I look around and finally decide to put it in a lower cupboard that has large cooking pots in it. I put the bottles way in the back, determined to just play stupid if she asks. Immature? Probably. But its the best I can come up with at the moment. Then I hurry to my room, change into my suit, grab my beach bag, and split.

e're doing dinner at our place tonight,” Sid announces as she and I meet at the door to our suite. She s loaded down with several bags and fumbling to find her key. “Ian and Ryan will be joining us.”